A-Men
by Kelsey Likes AU's
Summary: Sam Winchester was taken from his home in 1983, and put through rigorous amounts of torture, both physical and psychological. After he escapes from 'Cold Oak'-a place that he doesn't know even actually exists-and the mysterious 'Doctor A', he tries to remember where he came from and the life outside of that Hell. Will Sam Winchester ever be 'normal' again? (AU)
1. Coming Home (Part I)

"But listen carefully to the sound

Of your loneliness,

Like a heartbeat, drives you mad,

In the stillness of remembering

What you had,

And what you lost…

And what you had…

And what you lost."

It was raining so hard that he felt like he was swimming. His tangled, ratty brown hair was plastered to his head, face and the back of his neck. He could hardly see- it was so dark; the light from the stars and the full moon hidden behind a thick veil of clouds. He could tell where it was hiding, for the patch of clouds in front of it was lighter than the surrounding areas.

He was running, back against where the moon should be. His bare feet splashed in mud and puddles, dirtying them and his long sweatpants at the same time, but he didn't care. He didn't even really remember why he was running, or when he had started, but he knew he was getting away from something dark and evil and malicious.  
>A howl cut through the wet air and he gasped, slamming one of his feet down to stop himself. The soles of his feet were bleeding, but he hardly felt the pain. His head whipped around in all directions. He couldn't tell where the howling was coming from but he knew-<p>

It was coming for him.

So he began to run even faster. The rain hit his skin hard, feeling like needles trying to pierce through his tanned skin. His lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen. His throat was dry and his eyes wide. But he didn't stop running. He couldn't. He had to find his home.

He couldn't remember where home was, but he needed to find it.

He vaguely remembered the sound of metal clanking. The smell of gasoline and oil. Laughter.

He had to find the mechanic in town. Apparently there was only one store in town, but it was a family of mechanics; the Winchesters. That name felt like an abrupt kick in the gut. Winchester. Winchester... He knew that surname from somewhere. It was crying for him to recognize it. Begging him to remember- but, he couldn't. It had been too long, far too long.

Suddenly, there was a light pointed at him, shining so abruptly bright in his eyes.

"Who are you?" A gruff, male voice demanded to know.

"I- I don't-" He began, words tumbling out his mouth. He had forgotten what words tasted like, forgotten what his own voice sounded like. "-I don't know!" He finished exasperatedly.

The man grew closer, shining the invading light all over his body.

"What are ya? A Sav? You a freak?" He demanded, still drawing nearer.

"I don't know wh-what a 'Sav' is-" "-A freak! You are then, aren't ya?"

He had no idea why this sudden, seemingly violent and potentially dangerous, appearance of a man was calling him a 'Sav', a freak. He backed away, throwing his hands up in a placating manner. "I'm n-not a freak!" He told him, voice shaking due to the nervousness that he felt, and the fact that he didn't have any recollection whatsoever to the last time he had eaten or, well, slept.

"Y'sure 'bout that?" The other male questioned; and he suddenly found himself thrown to the ground. His back popped thrice as he was manhandled, and then the guy was abruptly on top of him, straddling his stomach, and then pain split into his cheekbone as he was punched. He cried out in pain; that was sure to leave a bruise.  
>He was faced with two options. Firstly; lay there and let this stranger wail on him until he was a bloody mess, because the stranger would probably get fed up and leave anyways. Secondly; to easily shove the stranger off of him, probably kick him a couple of times just to dish out just desserts, and then steal his flashlight and take off.<br>He opted for the latter option.

With strength he didn't recall having, he simply threw the other male off of him and rolled over, pushing himself to his feet. He whipped around to see the stranger unconscious on the ground and he groaned, sauntering over to him and kneeling, grabbing the flash light. He pushed the switch to the 'On' position and shined it in the other male's face, now getting a good look at him. There was nothing recognizable about him. Just your regular douchebag.

He turned the flashlight off and resumed walking. His face was throbbing and smarting, and he had no idea what he had provoked in that man. However, he found it oddly sickening how… calmly that he threw the man off of him, and wasn't even bothered by the fact that he had knocked him out. Just took his flashlight and headed off in the same direction as before.

He began to near a lamp post, and he paused underneath it to look at the flashlight in his hands. He twirled the metal thing around and flipped on the switch before he began to run again, panting, lungs searing. But he wasn't going to stop until he found the mechanics. He passed a gas station and slowed after he past it. There was a building right next to it, looking abandoned. There was a rusted sign in front of the desolate building.

Winchester Auto Repair.

His hazel eyes widened, and he approached the place. As he got closer, it became evident that the place was not abandoned. That it just wasn't open yet. He walked to the front door and eyed the sign that was in the window that gave the days that the shop was open, and what hours. Unfortunately, he had no idea what day it was. He knew it was night time, but he couldn't remember if it was closer to afternoon or day. He had lost all sense of direction and time since he had been away.

Since the shop wasn't open, he turned on his heel and padded towards the gas station, realizing how ragged his breath was. He didn't want to head in there looking absolutely atrocious, but he did want to get out of the rain. So he went to the door and pushed it open, glancing around the dimly lit gas station. There didn't seem to be anybody there.

"H-Hello..?" He whispered, before clearing his throat. This whole speaking thing was still new to him. "Hello?" He called again, this time much louder, his voice ringing.

"Jus' a minute." Came a deep, tired-sounding voice. He wasn't sure where it came from.

He approached the counter and paused, looking down at himself. He was absolutely soaked from the downpour outside. His feet were sore, stinging, and bleeding. His legs ached, his chest ached, his entire body ached with a horrible pain. His head felt like nails were being hammered into him.

Just then, a gruff looking man came from an open doorway, rubbing his greasy hands onto a handkerchief. The elder man eyed him, trying to get a look for who he was, in case there was a way that he knew this person. He usually only got some family and friends who came in this late at night, otherwise they were travelers who would never show up again.

He looked to him, and pushed his wet hair back out of his face to show his familiar hazel eyes.

"A-Are you..?" He started to ask, and the man stilled, his gaze going hard.

"Winchester." The man said cautiously. Hesitantly.

He turned fully to him, taking a step forward, and the elder man took a step back. "What do you want?" The elder man asked, and he slowly shrugged.

"I… I'm not sure…" He admitted softly. "I jus'... jus' knew I was s'pposed to come here…"

"Who told ya to come here, boy?"

Once again, he shrugged. "I remember… the name…" He whispered, voice getting quieter and quieter as he seemed to sink back into himself. To recceed into the shell of a man that he truly was. How he had always been since he could ever remember.

The man slowly nodded and held a hand out. "M'name's John Winchester. That ring a bell, kid?"

He looked up sharply. "Yeah." He answered, and stared at John's hand, unsure of what to do.

"Ya shake it, kid." John said, voice going soft as well.

He slowly extended his hand and gently took John's hand, shaking it up and down before he paused, not letting go. He stared at their hands, tilting them to the side. He saw a wedding band on John's ring finger. His gaze slowly lifted back up to his eyes.

"Mary…" He said quietly, and John suddenly got a hurt expression that spread across his face.

"Yeah. Mary was my wife."

For some reason, this made his chest sting with a sharp ache. He let go of John's hand. "Was..?"

John nodded his head weakly. "Died, lil' over twenty years ago." He said quietly.

That made his eyes go wide, and a spinning feeling occurred in his head. He thought he was suddenly going to throw up, and he wrapped his arms around his middle. John's eyebrows raised.

"You alright, boy?" He asked, and he didn't answer. Just continued to feel like he was falling.

"And- y-you lost a son!" He gasped, a hand going to his head and he stumbled back some, nearly slipping in the puddle of water that had dripped from him.  
>John was now very much alarmed and cautious. "Yeah. I did. Now answer me, kid. You alright?!" He demanded, advancing on him.<p>

As he stepped back, this time he actually did sleep and he fell right on his butt. He drew his knees up to his chest and dropped his head between them, clasping his hands onto the top of his head, hyperventilating. John dropped down beside him, putting a hand gently between his shoulder blades, rubbing.

"Hey, kid. It's alright. Yer alright." He murmured, and the kid started to shake.

Winchester. John and Mary Winchester. Mary Winchester had died twenty years ago. They had two sons. Dean. Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester would be twenty six years old.

"D-Dean."

"Yeah, that's my oldest. You a friend of Dean's?" John kept pressing, but the kid was far gone.

Dean's little brother had been taken when Dean was four years old. Dean's birthday was in the beginning of the year. The little brother's birthday was near the end of the year. He was only six months old. Six months old. He had been put through torture for nearly twenty-two years. He was twenty-two years old. Who was he? What was his name?

It suddenly exploded within his head. He gave a sharp cry of pain and the world began to spin as he slumped over, flopping to his side as he held his head, painful memories ripping through him.

"Hey!" John called, but his voice was far off and warbled, like in a dream. John got up and ran to the telephone to call nine-one-one. The kid kept a tight hold of his head so it wouldn't explode.

He knew. He knew what they did to them. Him, and all the other disappeared kids.

Cold Oak. He had been in Cold Oak. Doctor A. Who was Doctor A?

Max Miller.

Andrew Gallagher.

Ansem Weems.

Ava Wilson.

Lily Baker.

Scott Carey.

Jake - Jake. Jake Talley.

He threw his hand over his own mouth as sobs began to wrack through his body. John ran back over to him and dropped down again, rubbing his back. Soothing him. But no amount of soothing could help him from feeling safe from these horrific memories. Nothing could make him sane again. No amount of coddling or medicine could take away the pain.

Take the pain away from the injections. From the murders. The psychological trauma, along with the physical.

He was a monster.

A freak.

A demon.

A 'Sav'.


	2. Coming Home (Part II)

"I'm coming home,

I'm coming home,

Tell the world I'm coming home!

Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday

And I know my my kingdom awaits,

And they've forgiven my mistakes;

I'm coming home,

I'm coming home,

Tell the world I'm coming home!"

When he awoke, he couldn't entirely see. The whole room seemed to be white, but it was starting to darken. He blinked his hazel eyes repeatedly, giving a little gruff groan as he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. He felt something tug in his arm and he furrowed his eyebrows together and looked down at his arm to see an IV tapped into his arm.

He started to scream.

He jolted up and ripped the thing out of his arm, ignoring the burning pain. Instantly, there were nurses running into his room.

"You need to calm down, love. You're in a hospital."

He started breathing heavily again, trying to get out of the bed, but one nurse pushed him back down and held him there.

"You have to be careful of his wounds!" One nurse hissed, smacking her hands away and pushing her way to stand in front of him, placing her hands gently on his shoulders. She stared right into his eyes, and he swears that he has seen those in his dreams before.

"Hey, hey. Calm down, sweetheart." She said soothingly. "We're not gonna hurt you. You're okay. You're safe." She promised him, and he gulped down another one of his screams, quickly nodding his head.

"We're not gonna hurt you." She repeated, and slowly relinquished her hold. "We don't have to put the IV back in, but we do need you to lay back down on your back, honey." She said softly, and he slowly nodded again, pushing himself back onto the cot and he flopped down unceremoniously.

"That's good." She praised him, rubbing his arm. He looked at her in confusion, and she smiled gently at him.

"My name is Jessica." She greeted him. "Do you know why you're here?"

He shook his head, 'no'.

"Alright, love. Do you remember your name?"

He uncertainly nodded his head.

"Can you tell me your name?"

The kid paused, before he opened his mouth. "Sam…" He whispered, and she nodded.

"That's right. Your name is Sam Winchester. Do you remember anything from last night, Sam Winchester?" She continued to question him, the woman taking his large hand into her two extremely soft ones. He looked down to their hands and then back up at her.

"I saw my dad." He answered her, and Jessica nodded.

"Yes, you did. And he called nine-one-one, and we had to rush you in here. You were having a panic attack, Sam." She explained. "A very, very bad panic attack. You passed out before our EMTs had gotten there. But it's alright, because you're okay now. You're safe, and we have some people that would like to talk to you whenever you feel well-rested. Alright?"

Sam nodded his head. "Is it m' dad an' m' brother?" He asked her, and Jess replied with a nod.

"Along with one of your dad's friends. John told me that he's like an uncle to Dean, and to you." She said to him, and Sammy slowly nodded again.

"Okay. I'm ready."

She rose one of her blonde eyebrows. "Are you sure? You can sleep some more if you want to, Sam."

He shook his head. "Uh uh… Need to see them…" He maintained weakly, and Jess patted his hand. "Okay. But you don't get out of this cot. You understand me?" She asked him, and he nodded like a complacent child.

She flashed a dazzling smile. "Good." She praised him again, and let go of his hand, heading out of the room. He laid back into the hospital bed, looking around his room. It was bare, but not as bare as the hospital room that he was used to. Goosebumps rose all over his arms and legs and he got a constricting feeling in his chest again, and he wanted to scream all over again. Tears built up in his eyes, but he blinked those away as the man from last night, his father, and two other men came into his hospital room. Sam sat up.

"Hey." Sam said, and John's eyes lit up. He headed over to his boy and smiled.

"How you feelin', kiddo?" He asked softly, and Sammy looked kind of surprised.

"Um… Real tired." He answered honestly, and John nodded his head. "Yeah, I get that."

Another young man stepped forward. He was tall, just about as tall as their father. He had lighter brown hair than him and his father, freckles all over his lean face. He had greener eyes than them, as well. He eyed Sammy carefully before inching forward some more.

"You remember me..?" He whispered, and Sammy actually smiled.

"Dean." He said softly, and Dean perked up instantly. He smiled right back at his little brother.

"That's right." He said, nodding his head. "I'm your big brother." He said, very proud of that.

"Uh huh." Sam agreed with him, and then his gaze fell to the previously silent man in the dirty old hat that had some words that were faded across it. He watched him for a few moments, until the man took a closer step.

"Hey." He greeted, voice deep and midwestern. "I'm Bobby. Bobby Singer." He introduced himself, and Sammy nodded.

"You're… The one that Jess said's like an uncle." He reiterated Jess' explanation, and Bobby bobbed his head.

"Tha's right." He agreed, and Sammy smiled a bit, before he turned his body around to try and get to his feet. John stopped him however, placing a big bear paw on the kid's shoulder. Sam looked up, startled. John gaze his shoulder a light squeeze.

"Gotta lay down, Sammy." He said, and Sam's stomach flipped.

"Sam." He said quickly. "Jus'... Just Sam…" He squirmed a bit, before drawing his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, and John looked alarmed all over again because that was the position that Sammy was in before he had his last panic/anxiety attack. And he didn't want to have to go through that again.

"Hey, bud. It's alright. I'll just call ya Sam if ya want." He said, moving his hand to rub between his shoulder blades.

"'m sorry. Jus' don' like it." Sammy mumbled into his knees, dropping his face between them, and John gave his son and friend a worried look. Dean took a seat right next to Sam and he wrapped an arm around him.

Sammy tensed up immediately and picked up his head, giving Dean a surprised, incredulous look.

"What are y'doin'?" He asked him, sounding earnestly confused.

Dean blinked. "'m huggin' you." He answered, and Sammy continued to stare at him, but at least didn't scream, hyperventilate, or rip away from his elder brother. Instead, he slowly shifted closer to him.

"Huggin'?" He repeated, and Dean nodded. "Uh huh."

"Why?" Sam asked, and Dean tilted his head to the side a bit.

"Uh… 'Cause it's… It's comforting?" He answered, though it sounded more like a question than an actual response.

Sam still found it confusing. But, he actually found that he did like it. John stood up and Sammy looked to him before looking at Dean again and let go of his legs to climb right over to Dean and deposit himself into his big brother's lap, and it was Dean's turn to look incredulous. Sam dropped his head onto Dean's shoulder and closed his eyes.

After the initial shock of having a giant, yet surprisingly light-weight, twenty-two year old climb up into his lap like a child, he slowly wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. Just holding him. And Dean began to wish that he had been able to do this more often. He remembered the last time that he held his little brother, so, so many years ago. The night his mother died, and his brother had been stolen from him.

Tears built up in Dean's eyes, and he sniffled, and John got a little misty eyed as well, but he cleared his throat and blinked them away.

"That's real cute, Dean." John said, smiling a bit, and Dean looked up, looking younger than he had in years.

"Uh huh. Jealous." He replied to him, forcing a toothy grin, and John meekly nodded. "Kinda am." He admitted, since his son was the one that had been stolen away.

And with that, Sam had been deprived of the hugs, kisses, cuddles, and snuggles that he rightfully deserved. It had killed John when he realized that Sam had no idea what a hug really was. And that he needed attention and love and care, and God dammit would he be the best father he could be to his recently returned son. That he would change his ways, the ways he adapted by being a single father to his eldest son, Dean. He would be nicer. He would be more loving and accepting and understanding.

Dean shifted himself, carrying Sam as he sat on the cot, letting his huge body curl up in his lap as he held him. He pressed his back against the back of the bed, wanting to at least get comfy because he could tell by Sam's slowed breathing that he had fallen asleep in this position. And he wasn't about to wake his little brother up. No way in Hell. He was going to stay here, and be the first face that his little brother saw when he yawned and opened up his eyes.

John took a seat in the chair closest to the bed, and Bobby sat down on the sofa by the window.

"Might as well all take a nap while he's out." Bobby suggested, leaning back on the couch, pulling his hat over his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest, closing his eyes and he tried to doze off.

John liked that suggestion. He hadn't slept all night and was pretty damn tired. As was Bobby, since he had driven all the way from South friggin' Dakota to get here by the time that Sam had woken up this afternoon. Dean had been up all night, too. John had called him from his little family with a nice girl named Lisa Braeden that he insisted Dean seriously propose to her sooner or later.

They had a kid together. His name was Ben. John insisted that Dean propose for the kid at the least, but Dean always had commitment issues. John sometimes felt like Dean only stayed with Lisa because of Ben. But from what he knew of Dean, he knew that Dean really did love that girl. She was the only one who could keep his eldest in line better than he ever could.

Dean dropped his head on top of Sammy's. "Like that idea." He agreed with Bobby, closing his green eyes.

"Mhm." John grunted, leaning back in his seat.

The eldest man in the room closed his eyes as well and started to doze off as well.

For the moment, all was well in the world of John Winchester. His baby boy was back. Dean was content for the first time in twenty years. Bobby was here. It was all calm. It was relaxing.

Unfortunately, as they say… It's always calm before the storm.

He just didn't know what was brewing as he began to fall asleep in the chair of the hospital room.

None of them did.


	3. Breathe Me

"_Be my friend,_

_Hold me, wrap me up, unfold me._

_I am small, and needy._

_Warm me up,_

_And breathe me."_

Sam Winchester was allowed to leave the hospital after a few days of recovery. His wounds, among them being mostly bruises and lacerations, were observed and deemed not of much worry. That he should use lots of ice packs and band-aids, really. None of the cuts were insanely deep, and most had already scabbed over. They were just worried mostly about his feet, which the soles were torn up. They dealt with that, however, at the hospital, and gave him some gauze to deal with at home.

They were mostly worried about his mental state. He seemed very to himself. Very sad and reclusive and tired. The doctor put in charge of him gave him a prescription for anxiety and depression, and advised him to see a therapist, which their insurance couldn't cover, so Sam said that he didn't need to talk to anybody about his problems. He wouldn't even know where to begin.

He had climbed into the 1967 Chevrolet Impala that his father and brother seemed to share ownership of. Bobby kicked Dean out of the shotgun spot, and Dean whined about being kicked to the back, but a quick look from his father shut him up quick. Sam curled up in the back seat into his favorite position, knees to his chest. Dean sat on the other half of the car, watching him carefully. Wondering what he was thinking about. Wondering all sorts of things about him.

What was his favorite color? Least favorite color? Favorite number? He decided to ask him all of those dumb ice-breaking questions.

"What's yer favorite color?" Dean suddenly asked, and Sammy turned to gaze at him.

"Blue." He answered. Dean nodded. "Me too. Least favorite color?"

"Red." Sam answered with a bit of a grimace. Red like blood. He hated blood. Especially his own blood when it was outside of his body…

"Favorite number?" Dean asked, and Sam gave him a 'are-you-dumb?' sort of look.

"I don't… I don't think I have one." Dean shrugged. "I always liked two for some reason." He said casually, and then tried to think up more questions.

"Favorite animal?"

Sam continued to stare at him and lightly shrugged. "Cats?" Dean nodded again. "I'm more of a dog person m'self. Least favorite animal?"

"Birds. I hate birds." He answered almost immediately, and Dean rose an eyebrow. "How come?" He couldn't help but question.

Sammy grimaced at him. "Don't like feathers. Hate angels." He said, almost sounding cryptic. Then he swiftly turned his body away from Dean and dropped his head onto the window, making a loud thud. John looked in the rearview mirror.

"You good, Sam?" He questioned.

"Uh huh." Came Sam's voice, and John sighed a little and glanced over his shoulder at Dean.

"No more twenty questions. Got it?"

Dean sighed as well. "Yes, sir." He answered respectfully and leaned back into the seat.

The car ride home wasn't really that long. Only about fifteen minutes away from the end of Dean's questions. The car was basically silent until John pressed on the radio, turning on a classic rock station, putting it on low, until Sammy groused from the back seat.

"This sucks."

John had snorted. "What's wrong with Metallica?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with Metallica?" Dean chimed in, and Sammy just shook his head, deciding not to answer. John turned the music down super low and Sammy decided that he could just muster through and deal with it like he had with so many other things. And it wasn't like this was actually harming him, psychologically or physically. So he could just deal. It seemed to make John more relaxed, anyways. He didn't want to disturb them just because he didn't enjoy the same kind of music that they both obviously shared.

When they arrived, Sammy climbed out of the car and was lead inside of a nice looking house. Dean was behind him, and Bobby held up the back. He looked around the main hallway and completely wandered off onto his own. John was going to give him the royal tour, but ended up just frowning and following after Sam, explaining the rooms as he led their little expedition.

"That's you." John commented, looking at picture. Sammy turned and picked up the picture, looking it over and he smiled a little bit before setting the picture down.

"Cute." He said, and John nodded in agreement.

John went on to show some more pictures that he kept for old times sake. To remind him of how good things really used to be before this horrible situation had came about that took his son and killed his wife.

Sam went upstairs, and the troupe followed behind him. He looked into one room that was sort of messy, and the boy smirked a bit.

"Dean's room?" He question, and Dean colored up a bit.

"How'd ya know?" He asked sarcastically, and John looked at him.

"'Cause ya never keep yer damn room clean, even when I ask ya to." He answered for Sam, and the tall kid looked into another bedroom that had a king-sized bed. That must be his father's room. He turned around and eyed a closed door.

"That's my room. Ain't it?" He asked, and John suddenly looked up with a forlorn expression, nodding his head.

"Yeah, It is." He answered, and Sammy walked forth, opening up the door.

He looked around. The room was dusty. There was wooden crib directly in front of him, along with other babyish things strewn about the room. Many toys. This was the wonderful, apple-pie life that he was supposed to have. He was supposed to be loved and held whenever he wanted. He was supposed to eat three meals every day and laze about and be a kid.

But he was stolen, and so was his life and childhood.

He stepped out of the room after a few moments, closing the door quickly. Too many bad thoughts were being tossed around inside of his head. He needed to get away from them. He didn't have time to have a breakdown right then and there.

"What time is it?" Sam asked, and Dean checked his watch.

"'Bout noon." He answered, and Sammy turned to his father with an expectant look on his face.

"Am I allowed to eat?" He asked, and John looked totally taken aback.

"Of course you are, Samm- Erm. Sam." He quickly corrected himself before using the dreaded nickname that Sam seemed to seriously hate. He gestured for him to follow him and he went downstairs, heading into their kitchen. Dean took a seat at the dining room table, as did Bobby. Sam followed him and leaned on the counter.

"Oatmeal?" He asked, and John stared at him.

"Y'like oatmeal?" He questioned.

Sammy slowly shook his head. "Not really…"

"We got other stuff. Ya can have anything you like." He said, pointing to two cabinets and then the fridge. "Pick anything ya want, bud."

Sammy opened up one of the cabinets and immediately pulled out a package of frosted sugar cookies. He looked them over curiously.

"These?" He asked, and John smirked a bit, taking the container. "After lunch." He answered his youngest son. "Let's get you some real food, first. Somethin' not so sugary. Ya want a sandwich? Or some bacon?"

"I want bacon." Dean piped up, and John ignored him.

Dean always wanted bacon.

"Never had those." Sammy answered, turning to his father. "Only oatmeal… An' sometimes I got wheat pancakes!" He said with a bit of a smile, and John felt sick to his stomach.

"I'll make ya both." He said, and John proceeded to start getting things out for him. "You go on and sit down. Dean, don't be lazy. Set the table at least."

Dean sighed a bit. "Yeah." He answered, getting up and going to get some plates and silverware.

Sammy sat down at the table and looked to Bobby, wondering if he was going to strike up some sort of annoying conversation. Bobby looked at him and just smiled a bit, and Sammy smiled back. It seemed that Bobby sort of understood him, in a way. Understood that he was just quiet, and liked to be left to himself. That he didn't need to be talked to twenty-four-seven like John and Dean seemed to think. That he was fine with just their company. Knowing that he wasn't alone in the world like he had previously thought.

They sat in silence after Dean had even sat down, the kid also taking the hint that it should just be a quiet morning. The only sounds being the sizzling of bacon and other food-making noises that John Winchester was making. It was calm and relaxing, to say the least. Soon, he came around and gave each man a heaping pile of the delicious pork strips, and Sammy eyed his carefully, and watched as Dean took a handful and just started sticking it in his mouth. Bobby was more civilized and took a strip at a time, biting it and nibbling it until it was gone.

Sammy picked up a strip and sniffed it. Smelled like grease, really. He took a bite, and his tastebuds were totally overloaded.

"Holy crap." He said softly, eyeing the food in awe. "This is the most… amazing thing… I've ever eaten…" He said, before jamming the rest of it in his mouth, the malnutritioned kid taking a page from Dean's book and shovelling the food into his mouth, hardly taking time to chew before he swallowed.

"Well, don't choke on it." John advised both of his sons.

"Ain't gon' choke." Dean commented, mouth full of the bacon.

"If ya do, I aint savin' yer ass." John replied to that, shaking his head at the same time that Dean did, in response to what his father had said, with an eyeroll as well, of course.

Breakfast went by rather swiftly. What with the kids stuffing their faces, and Bobby and John not having that much bacon to even begin with, it was no wonder that it went by so quickly. The rest of the morning was spent quietly. John decided to turn on a football game, and Sam's eyes were glued to the screen. He thought it to be pretty amazing.

Dean leaned over to his father, voice low. "When are we going to tell him?"

John shot Dean a look. "Not yet."

"Then when? Right now is the best time, dad." Dean argued back, and John shook his head.

"He's not ready."

"Not ready for what?" Sam mumbled, eyes still locked on the screen. Dean and John looked at each other and then to Sam. Sammy turned his head then, looking right at John.

"What did you want to tell me?"

John Winchester pursed his lips before sighing. "It's kind of a bombshell, Sam. It'll take a long time to explain."

"I've got a long time." Sam replied, stretching his long legs out before he settled by lying down on the couch. "So, talk."

John gave Dean another look, since this was so his fault.

"It's about Dean an' Bobby an' I's' job." John said slowly. "We… We hunt things."

Sammy tilted his head. "Like… Deer?"

John shook his head. "No… Like these… monsters called Sav's." Sammy's eyes widened and he was suddenly up on his feet, and John looked up worriedly.

"Someone called me a Sav. What is it?" Sam asked him immediately, and John furrowed his eyebrows together.

"Who the Hell called you that?" He asked, and Sam shook his head. "Not important. What is it, dad?" He asked, and John sighed, sitting up straighter.

"There's a lotta 'em. There's vampires and demons an' werewolves. Lots of different stuff. Angels."

Sam blinked. "Like… Michael?" He asked, and John smiled a bit. "Ya read the Bible?" Now it was Sammy's turn to furrow his eyebrows together.

"No. I mean Michael. The archangel. With Gabriel and Raphael and Lucifer." He repeated and extrapolated.

"Like… In the Bible." Dean echoed his father, and Sam shook his head again.

"No." He said slowly. "Michael… As in… This tall… White wings… Blue eyes." He said, and his hand went lower, to about the middle of where his forearm should be, an amused smile on the humble giant's face.

"An' Gabriel." He said, keeping the height hand up for reference. "This high. He's got golden-brown wings that have white specks and he's real nice. His eyes are lotsa different colors."

John and Dean stared at their relative, and Bobby wandered into the room, pausing in the doorway, and listening.

"An' Raphael is actually a girl." He said. "She's got white wings, too. But they're not as beautiful as Michael's are. Luci… Lucifer…" He started to say, before biting his bottom lip. However, he forced himself to continue. "Lucifer has black and white wings. They're white on the outside, and on the inside, they're black. I think he has… some gray feathers… Or somethin'. He… He was… Different…" He said, scratching the back of his head and he sat back down on the couch in their living room, wrapping his arms under his legs.

"But those are jus' the archangels. There's other angels like Balthazar and Anna and Castiel." He continued, and his family couldn't stop staring at him. Sammy looked up them and became conscious of their gazes.

"What?"

"Nothin'." Dean said instantly, leaning forward in his chair. "What other people were with you, Sam?" He asked him, voice gentle.

Sam grimaced. "Well…" He trailed off before he shook his head and once again forced himself to get the words past his cracked lips. "There was Meg and Crowley and Ruby and Lilith." He said, looking down to the floor.

"Lilith was scary. And Meg was really nice. Crowley is okay, an' Ruby…" Sammy's eyebrows lifted and he grinned all goofy-like. "Ruby was real nice."

Dean nearly choked. "And who were these people?"

"The doc called them 'Black-eyes' cause they had black eyes." Sam answered, and Dean and John turned their heads, catching each other's gazes for another brief moment.

"Do you remember what the place was called, Sam?" John asked him, and Sam shook his head.

"Uh uh." He said, frowning. "It was chilly, though. Cold." He added.

John nodded. "Well, we'd love it if ya could remember. But if you can't, it's okay." He told him, and Sam nodded as well. "I will." He promised him, before getting up to his feet.

"I'm gonna go… do something else." He said vaguely, heading towards the stairs, glancing outside the window as he went, just because it was in his line of vision.

He froze in his tracks, looking like a deer in headlights. "Oh my God."

Instantly, the other three men in the room got to their feet. "What is it?" Bobby asked, and Sam pointed to the window. The elder men followed his finger to find out where it was pointing to.

Outside there stood a man with a dirty old trench coat and loose, grey clothing underneath it. He had raven black hair and piercing blue eyes… but perhaps the most extravagant thing about this man was the fact that he had midnight black wings so huge that they dragged on the ground as he walked. For the moment, however, he was standing still.

Staring directly into the window.


End file.
